


This Harbour We Have Never Known

by bantha fodder (banthafodder)



Category: Dune Series - Frank Herbert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-13
Updated: 2008-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1627682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banthafodder/pseuds/bantha%20fodder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chani and Arrakis, adrift in Muad'dib's absence</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Harbour We Have Never Known

**Author's Note:**

> Written for allburning

 

 

Muad'dib's empire runs wide, and deep. From deep within snow-filled trenches and above crashing rivers, his Fremen wrap the jihad around their shoulders and speak, spreading the word of Muad'dib and bringing peace to his realm.

Chani dreams of green leaves and rain falling from the sky; in her heart, she knows they exist, but as concubine her feet never leave the sands of Arrakis, and sometimes she doubts.

"Chani," Muad'dib says, his voice low, his lips soft on her shoulder.

Of course he knows.

**

She puts her fears away in the deepest places; turns her face towards Muad'dib.

**

She wakes, and in the pre-dawn darkness she stretches, reaches for her beloved, but she is alone. She wanders the halls, looks for trace of him, but all she finds is his humour in Alia's laugh and a frown on Stilgar's face.

"My husband has left us," says Irulan, and the House of Corrino is filled with liars and cheats but there is no pulse to the palace, and for once Irulan speaks the truth.

**

The absence of Muad'dib is a whisper that cannot travel on the wind, a whisper that sinks into the sands of her beloved planet. At Council she presses her lips together, keeps staring at the head of the table, and when Irulan seats herself, Chani stills.

"There is no need of an empty Empress when there is no Emperor to give her meaning," Chani says, and her hand flexes for the krysknife she does not wear. 

"You might find I am not so empty as you had supposed." Chani feels the compulsion, a strand of the Voice; she thinks of her beloved's mother, and frowns. 

Irulan does not turn away.

**

The moons turn, and Chani breathes in the desert wind; wraps the shawl around her shoulder and calls for the Fedaykin.

They find no footsteps in the sand, no scent of Muad'dib in the sky, and Chani watches.

**

Muad'dib's words echo through the palace, _the universe neither threatens nor promises_ , and Chani runs without pause, her feet bare on the hard clay floors. In the Room of Intercessions, Muad'dib speaks, and Chani has called for Muad'dib before she even notices that it is only a hologram, and his sister, kneeling before the stair.

The hologram stills between Alia's hands. "It was a good speech," Alia says. Chani looks up, meets Alia's eyes. 

"I wish," she begins, but Alia will not let her continue.

"My brother is not dead," Alia says, and Chani wants to believe; she wills it to be true, but still she turns away from the light of faith in Alia's eyes.

**

The sand slides through her fingers, and she watches the grains return, become indistinguishable against the backdrop of the desert.

She is a desert creature, and she bites back her tears.

**

Alia signs declarations, and Irulan shakes her head, picks one over the other. 

"You do not belong here," Chani says, later.

"I am his wife," Irulan responds, her head high.

"You are a symbol."

"I am the one trained in matters of state," Irulan replies. "You are but a desert urchin, trained in street fighting and warfare."

"What a shame we are not at war," Chani says.

Irulan frowns.

**

A pilgrim greets her; "Lady of Muad'dib," he says, and it is an honour to be the Lady of Muad'dib, but she misses the stilsuit at her neck and the krysknife in her hand. 

"We have come to praise our Lord," another says, and she opens her mouth to say, _he is not here_ ; she pauses, and says instead, "St Alia, his sister."

They kiss Alia's hand, and Chani thinks about a world where Muad'dib was never born, an Arrakis where she had remained cloaked in the desert.

**

She feels the breeze against her skin, the dull thud of thopters long before they come in to range. She looks for evidence of worms upon the horizon as the thopters land; listens to their cries as a thopter lifts higher, across to the stone of Arrakeen.

The Fedaykin step from the thopters, and their backs are straight and their scars fresh as they greet her. _Muad'dib help us_ they say, _the winds are cold_ , and she would suspect them of playing but she is Fremen all the way to her toes, and she knows what their words mean. 

In the chambers she keeps for Muad'dib, she sweeps away the hangings and removes her krysknife. It is solid in her palm, and she wraps her fingers around its handles.

She will not be so inattentive again.

**

Chani leans against a pillar, the feathers tall in her headpiece, and as the supplicants drone on she looks across to Alia, her beloved's sister. 

Alia sits, her posture poor and a small smile upon her face. Separated by Muad'dib's empty throne, Irulan looks distant and small, her back straight and her attention never wavering.

Chani watches Muad'dib's throne, and its emptiness renders her heart, but she is a desert creature; she remains in the Great Hall, keeps watching.

**

She walks the streets of Arrakeen. In the distance, the bells chime, and the sand fills the gaps. She smiles at a cloaked youth, and he blushes. "Lady of Muad'dib," a young woman asks, the mask of her stilsuit loose in her hand, "we seek the word of Muad'dib."

Chani reaches out her hand. "Young Fremen," Chani says, "let me hear your words."

**

She tastes rebellion on the breeze, and speaks to Alia of the change in the wind. 

"It is no change," Alia says. "It is our way."

"To disagree?" Irulan asks.

"No," Chani replies. "To fight."

**

She walks beside Alia, and on the steps of the palace the supplicants gather. "St Alia!" they cry, "Lady Chani!" and Chani listens to them speak; hears the despair of her sisters and brothers.

Bathed by the bright morning sun, her scarf falling to her shoulders, Alia does not blink: she takes water for the tribe, demands water for the tribe, and is careful to shed none upon the desert sands.

**

She wakes, and in the pre-dawn light, feels the wind from a thopter on her skin, knows it brings news from far away.

She is a desert creature, and she turns her head to the rising sun, looks for hints in the falling of the sand. 

She holds her breath.

END

 


End file.
